Hands of Stone, Heart of Ice
by Bluest-of-Jayys
Summary: In a world where magic is as common as the stars in the sky, a good-for-nothing fisherman's son gets cursed, makes friends, gets political, and breaks a spell, all the while falling in love with a sorcerer with whom he has more in common than anyone thinks. DenNor w/ SuFin, HongIce, RoChu, and others on the side.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: A Small Fishing Town, A Lazy Man, and A Curse.**

Once upon a time, in a world where magic was as common as stars in the sky, there lay a sleepy little fishing town by the sea. In this town, known simply as Little-Whirling-By-The-Sea, lived a fisherman with two sons. Both tall, blonde, and handsome, but as different as a fish and a bird.

The younger was a hardworking lad with eyes of glass-green, blessed with the face of Adonis yet cursed with the expression of always having consumed something sour. Whenever he did something, he did it with vigor and passion, earning him the admiration of his father as well as the other citizens of Little Whirling.

The elder, in contrast, was a horrendously lazy boy who would rather chase pigeons in the town square than help his father sell fish in the market. A shame, really, for he was a charismatic young man who could charm the stripes off of a tiger. He would often cause his brother and his poor father anguish without even realizing it.

Then, soon after one particular May Day, the fisherman passed away. The elder son, Mathias, wept bitterly, for he really did love his father, and in his pain became even more useless than before. This left his brother, Berwald, to swallow his sadness and arrange for the burial of the dear old fisherman.

By mid-June, things had finally calmed down. Berwald, now fourteen, left home to seek his fortune, leaving sixteen-year-old Mathias to hopefully inherit the family business. The younger didn't have to go far, however; he apprenticed himself to the town carpenter, who was thrilled by Berwald's talent and penchant for hard work, and, having no children of his own, treated him as his own flesh and blood. To add even more success to his considerable fortune, he ran into Tino Väinämöinen, the pretty, young son of the mayor while buying supplies at the market and fell head over heels in love.

They were married in a grand ceremony befitting the son of politician and the heir to a business, and it was at this wedding that Mathias, now a man of nineteen, realized with great disappointment that his life was going nowhere. He'd been surviving off of his father's trade, hauling fish in from the sea to be sold at market, but as the years passed, he noted that the supply of fish in the sea dwindled steadily and he failed to see why. Being a strapping young man, he hired himself out to do odd jobs as well, but he found no joy in it.

From his seat, he looked over Berwald and his new husband: happy, in love, and discussing plans for their new house, their love nest. Mathias suddenly felt an emptiness overtake him, one he attempted to chase away with food and drink.

"My, aren't you eating a lot?" tittered a voice behind him. Mathias whirled angrily, a drumstick clenched between sharp teeth, to see a young witch. She was beautiful: the evening sun glinted on her dark skin, the apples of her cheeks pushed up by a sly smile, her jet-black ringlets held in place with bright red ribbon. "Oh, you're the odd jobs man," she noted, still smirking.

"What's it to ya?" snapped Mathias, brandishing his drumstick like a sword.

The witch scowled. "You lazy excuse for a man, I'm here for my mother." She drew from the folds of her skirt a wand, tip glowing brightly with dangerous magic. "You're the one who did the shoddy job fixing up my poor mother's stairs!" she said angrily, "They broke on her, and when she fell, she broke her leg! It's all your fault, so I'm going to curse you."

"Awfully public place to curse someone, ain't it?" Mathias answered, rising. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Not so fast," interrupted the witch, and with a flick of her wand, Mathias's hands felt inconceivably heavy. He looked down at them in pallid shock to find that they were turning into stone!

"Since you can't use your hands properly," the witch said lightly, "you might as well not use them at all." She turned to leave, then stopped. "Ah. Yeah. One last thing: if you talk about your curse to anyone, your hands will break. And then you'll have no hands!" she chuckled. "Good day, mister odd jobs." Then she was gone, having skipped away before Mathias could even scream.

The party continued around Mathias as if nothing had happened. Mathias forced down his feelings and glanced around. The music had started, and Berwald was now leading his pretty new husband onto the dance floor for their wedding dance. Mathias waited until the dance had ended before nudging Berwald into the corner of the food tent with his shoulders.

"What's wrong with ya?" Berwald asked, obviously irritated. All Mathias had to do was show him his stone hands, which he'd been hiding in the pockets of his suit trousers, and Berwald's annoyance turned into sympathy in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sorry it had to happen on such a happy day, brother," Mathias looked honestly regretful, "but I don't know who else to go to."

Suddenly, Berwald's new husband popped his head into the tent. "So that's where you went off to, love! You disappeared all of a sudden, I thought something happened, and…" his words trailed off upon seeing Mathias's stone hands. "Wh...what happened here?"

Mathias felt slight joy at having both his brother and his brother-in-law wrapped around his petrified pinkies, but the feeling was instantly squashed. "Tino, I got cursed, can't really talk about it or else bad things happen, but I need help. You know a little magic, don't you?"

Tino prodded at Mathias's hands. "Nowhere near enough to break a curse. What the hell got you into this in the first place?"

"Can't talk about it," reminded Mathias, almost rudely.

For the briefest moment, Tino looked like he wanted to slap his brother-in-law. Before anything could happen, Berwald cut in. "There's a powerful sorcerer," he began, "who lives at th' edge o' the town square. He might be able t' do ya good."

Mathias's face lit up. "That's right! Forgot about that guy!" He was about to race off when Tino caught him by the sleeve of his suit coat.

"Don't forget, you're supposed to give us a speech, _best man_."

**XxX**

Mathias wasn't able to visit the sorcerer noon the next day. While Berwald and Tino embarked on their honeymoon, Mathias called over an old friend of his, one of the few other people who could tolerate him, to help out.

He'd known Berg Huizinga since they were children, and even though he had minor sociopathic tendencies like charging Mathias a small fee for his help, Mathias trusted him with his life. So, that morning, Berg dressed him, cleaned him, fed him, and even escorted him to the Sorcerer's shop before leaving to attend to his own errands.

The Sorcerer's shop front was narrow, as if it had been stuffed between its neighbors. A simple wooden sign hung above the simple wooden door, letters in faded paint reading THE GRAND SORCERER NORGE.

Doesn't look so grand, thought Mathias as he knocked.

The door opened to reveal a teenage boy, several years younger than Mathias yet with a glint of brilliance in his pink eyes. His hair, an icy silver, was styled in the mop that most teenage boys seemed to be fond of.

"Leon, I-" he started tiredly. Upon seeing Mathias, his eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he immediately composed himself. "I'm sorry, but the Sorcerer Norge is out right now, so the shop's closed." He began to shut the door, but his effort was stopped by Mathias's foot wedged in front of the doorframe.

"This is urgent, couldn't ya call him? You're a wizard, right?" Mathias pleaded.

"An apprentice sorcerer," corrected the boy.

"Then ya know magic?"

The boy scratched his reddened cheek. "Well, I-"

"Great! Could ya help me out with somethin'?" Mathias edged his way into the shop and pulled off his glove, revealing his stone hand.

The boy jumped back. "That's quite a curse!" he exclaimed, peering at Mathias's petrified extremities. "Who did you anger to get such a curse put on you?"

It was Mathias's turn to look sheepish. "I can't give ya the details, part of the curse, but I can say that this was totally not my fault. I'm Mathias, by the way. Mathias Fishersson."

"Son of Rogen Fisher? Might you have a trade of your own?"

"Technically, I'm Mathias Fisher now, but nobody recognizes me as that…" he trailed off, realizing that he'd said too much.

If the boy noticed, he ignored it. "I'm Emil Steilsson." He closed the door behind Mathias. "Well, if you're already here, then you might as well wait for the Sorcerer Norge to come back. There's a chair by the window. Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea would be nice," answered Mathias, "do you know when the Sorcerer is coming back?"

Emil shrugged. "Sometimes he takes days," he said lightly, "I have a feeling you'll be lucky, though."

Mathias's luck came to fruition an hour later, when the wooden door swung open in a puff of black smoke. In stumbled a man, no older than Mathias, coughing and hacking and waving his arms frantically.

"Welcome home," greeted Emil, "you have a customer."

The smoke cleared, and Mathias saw that the man was quite good-looking, with sharp features, wavy blond hair, and eyes the same color as the sky on a starry night. His features were twisted into a frightening expression, and it took Mathias a moment to realize that he was just annoyed.

"What brings you here, sir?" he said politely, dusting off his robes and striding over to where Mathias sat.

"I've been cursed, see?" Mathias held out his hands. He took note on how the Sorcerer Norge moved: delicate and proud, as if he were a fairy marching on air.

The Sorcerer stopped short, eyes wide and lips trembling. Mathias had to strain to hear the tiny and terrified "no" that escaped his lips.

Mathias looked on imploringly. "Do you think you could help me?"

The Sorcerer shook his head. "I can't help you."

Emil nudged him in the side. "But, Lukas…" he whispered.

"I can't help you!" repeated the Sorcerer, this time in a roar. He took a deep, wheezing breath before adding, "I think it's time you left. Emil, please show him out." Without another word, the Sorcerer Norge stalked deeper into his home, leaving his apprentice and his customer stunned.

"There's your answer, I guess," said Emil, a hint of pity in his voice as he shuffled Mathias towards the front door. "I'm sorry about that. He's quite pleasant on most days. You're welcome to try again tomorrow."

Mathias shrugged. "Thank ya for your hospitality, though."

"You're really quite similar."

"Ya really think so?"

Emil nodded. "You might be able to win him over."

"I'll be back tomorrow, then!" Mathias grinned. He bid Emil goodbye and strode off to his own home, filled anew with hope. Emil watched him leave in silence.

"Very unlike you to turn away a customer," he said finally.

The Sorcerer Norge, seemingly appearing out of thin air, growled. "Not the first time."

"His curse looks a lot like yours, sir."

Norge growled again, fingers curling over his breast.

Emil sighed. "It's quite cold, isn't it?"

* * *

**AN: Casually dipping my toe into a fantasy setting.  
The names make no sense, either. I wanted occupation-based names, but then I couldn't think of names for Finland, Iceland, Netherlands, or Norway. Since Berwald and Mathias are blood brothers in this, they are both the fisherman's sons. Last names don't have much importance story-wise, anyway. **

**There will be pairings galore in this, but the main focus is DenNor. Plus the majority of pairings will be the stock popular ships lol**

**This story may end up very long. Thank you for your time and patience!**

**XOXO~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: How Mathias Single-Handedly Started A War**

"People are talking, my king," Queen Yao scoffed, admiring his nails as if they were the most interesting things on earth.

King Ivan stepped towards him and lay a hand on his shoulder, fingers caressing the fine silk of Queen Yao's robes. "I hear it too, my love. Our Kingdoms of Acacia and Oliennon… We are to be at war soon," he leaned down and kissed the porcelain skin of his queen's cheek.

"You know me, though," said Queen Yao, covering his husband's hand with his own and smiling darkly, "I refuse to submit."

King Ivan returned his queen's smile.

"Neither do I."

**XxX**

Mathias returned to the Sorcerer Norge's shop the first thing in the morning of the following day, barely even dressed (he'd woken up earlier than Berg that day). Emil winced when he opened the door, then frowned sadly.

"The Sorcerer Norge is out and will be gone for a few days. I'm very sorry, Mathias." he said pitifully, then closed the door in Mathias's face.

Still, that didn't deter Mathias from trying again the next day, nor the day after that.

On the fifth day, it was the Sorcerer Norge himself who answered the door.

"Don't you have anyone else to go to?" he asked coldly, "there are plenty of witches and wizards, even in this town."

"Nobody can help me," answered Mathias, "I've talked to every magician in Little Whirling and I've even called in at nearby towns, but they took one look at my curse and said no! You're my only hope, Norge. Hell, even Emil thinks so!"

The Sorcerer slapped Mathias quickly across his face. "First of all, address me as the Sorcerer Norge, for that is my title. Second of all, I can't break curses either, okay? I can't even break the one that's been put on me. Don't ever come here again, or I will turn the rest of you to stone as well!" And with a loud bang, Mathias found himself staring at a pathetic wooden door. Tears swam in his eyes, turning his vision blurry. He scrubbed them away and paced in a circle before turning back to Norge's shop.

"Ya heartless monster, no wonder ya got cursed! The sign says GRAND SORCERER, but really you're just a talentless hack like the rest of them! I hope ya turn into a damn frog, ya fraud!" He punctuated his tirade with a swift kick to the door, then stomped back to his home. Berg was already waiting for him at the dinner table.

"No luck?" he asked softly.

Mathias shook his head and plopped himself down at the table next to his friend as a feeling of hopelessness rose within him. Through bleary eyes, he studied his hands. They looked to be made of smooth gray granite, uncommon near the sea. He tried to flex, to wiggle his fingers, but they refused to move.

They really are stone, he thought as he pressed his face to his palms, cool and heavy.

His affliction had more than taken its toll on Mathias's life for the past few days. He felt like an invalid, unable to perform simple tasks without the help of another. More importantly, he couldn't work like this. He was already under strain from the startling lack of fish in the bay near Little-Whirling-By-The-Sea, and his stone hands had put a stop to any fishing he had to do. He couldn't even make money off of his odd jobs. Thankfully, Berg's sociopathic tendencies had reached their limit and he refused to take any more of Mathias's money, instead returning every last penny he'd received in the past week out of true concern for his friend.

In order to continue living, something had to be done, whether it was Lukas who lifted his curse or not.

"Berg," he groaned tiredly, "do you mind accompanying me to Crownheim?"

Berg looked up from the newspaper he'd begun to read. "What for?"

"I need to see the king."

"This might not be a good time," Berg slid the paper in front of Mathias's nose, "there are rumors of a war breaking out."

"I don't care," sighed Mathias, "if anyone can lift this curse, it's the wizard king himself."

"Then I will take you where you need to go," said Berg.

**XxX**

Crownheim, the royal city and capital of the Kingdom of Acacia, was an uneventful half-day's ride from Little Whirling. Despite his predicament, Mathias found it nice to travel with his best friend again. He almost forgot that he couldn't use his hands. Almost.

In the meantime, during the lulls of his conversations with Berg, Mathias stared out the window and thought up new ways to manage without his hands.

"I don't mind helping you out," Berg had said.

Mathias snorted, a strange sort of laugh. "You just pity me."

"Who wouldn't? You have no hands."

They arrived in Crownheim to find it blindingly brilliant. The buildings rose tall and majestic, made of rosy stone and accented by gold. The streets were immaculate, lacking any rubbish or chips in their cobblestones. Mathias's and Berg's old carriage seemed out of place, as if they had accidentally ridden into a fairytale.

The tallest and most majestic building, however, was the royal palace. It dwarfed Crownheim in its sheer gaudiness, consisting of clusters of red stone towers topped by colorful onion-shaped domes and trimmed with gold. On the top of one of those onion-shaped domes, Mathias spotted a serpentine dragon wound around its spire, basking in the afternoon sun. He wondered if that was worth reporting to the king as well, as dragons weren't very common in these parts and were commonly regarded as a threat, although this one seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Mathias kept his eye trained on the dragon as he and Berg dismounted their carriage at the town stables. Assuring themselves that their horses were well taken care of by the stablehands, they prepared to walk the last few blocks to Crownheim Castle.

If Mathias still had his hands, they would be shaking. Instead, he bit his lip, almost glaring at the castle as they approached it. Berg gently touched him on the arm. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a li'l nervous." Mathias grinned shakily. "Meetin' the king and all, y'know. Cause for nervousness."

"Don't get your hopes up," Berg said solemnly, "I hear he's a real airhead."

"How bad could he be if he rules a kingdom?" countered Mathias.

Berg had no answer for that. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and quickened his stride, forcing Mathias to walk faster as well. They reached the palace in no time.

Mathias had never felt so small and insignificant as he did then, staring up at the palace that took up his entire field of vision. That entire palace belonged to one man, this airhead king, also known as the greatest wizard of their time. He was sure that King Ivan could cure him, or else they wouldn't be calling him the Great and Powerful Wizard King Ivan, wouldn't they?

Beyond the palace's gilded gates lay a long flight of stone stairs, leading up to the palace doors. Mathias took one look at the stairs and turned around. "Yeah, no. Not climbin' those stairs. You go alone."

Berg stopped him. "We're climbing those stairs, you lazy bum."

The trek consumed nearly half an hour of their morning and left them both sore, tired, and sweaty. After introducing themselves to the guards, they collapsed on the landing to catch their breaths.

"King Ivan had better see us," panted Mathias, "if I climbed those stairs for nothin', I might kick somethin'!"

Luckily, the guards agreed to escort them straight to the king. They walked through high-ceilinged chambers, decorated richly with paintings, tapestries, and exotic mosaics. Mathias especially liked a medallion design embedded in the floor of some mirrored room, and had to be dragged away from the kaleidoscope-like chamber. Eventually, they came to rest the foot of King Ivan's throne in the most lavish room of all.

The king himself was just as majestic as his palace and city. An elaborate golden crown sat on top of ash blond locks, and his fur-trimmed robes trailed down to the floor in perfect folds that Mathias assumed had been set up by his assistants. He wore large gems on every one of his fingers, but his face was humble: a rich man with a child's smile. When he spoke, his voice was soft yet authoritative.

"What do you want?"

Mathias and Berg bowed. "He is a simple fisherman who has lost the use of his hands due to a curse," said Berg, "We implore the Great and Powerful Wizard King Ivan to aid us in the removing of this curse."

Mathias almost laughed. He'd never heard Berg speak so respectfully before. He swallowed his laughter and removed the gloves he had come to wearing, revealing his stone hands to the King. King Ivan rose slowly from his throne and walked towards the two men to get a better look.

"This is quite a curse, yes," King Ivan said, prodding at Mathias's hands, "I've been put under a curse as well."

Mathias nodded, eager for the King's answer.

King Ivan laughed. "My curse is called marriage, though, and I seem to have brought it on myself! Isn't that wonderful?"

Not what Mathias wanted to hear, but kings worked in strange ways, so he waited for him to continue.

"The Queen dares to play games with my head, yes?" King Ivan cast his gaze at the tapestry that hung behind his throne, depicting the king with his hand resting on the waist of what appeared to be a demure, raven-haired woman with a certain cunningness lighting her almond eyes. He sighed forlornly and turned back to Mathias and Berg. "My friends, you are young and handsome. Do not fall for the wily ways of a pretty woman," he smirked, "or in my case, a pretty man…"

Mathias could care less about the mysterious queen's gender. He held his hands out again. "That's all good, sire, but, my hands…"

"He took my heart, then my lands, then my money," lamented the king, "this war will cost me a fortune. Queen Yao, he is a divine and formidable sorcerer. His powers rival mine, and the powers of his subjects greatly surpass those of my people. I will need every registered magician to fight!" King Ivan clenched his fists in his robes, "and still we will be greatly outnumbered! What am I to do?"

"With all due respect, your majesty, you could start by healing my friend's hands," Berg interjected. The crease in his pronounced brow grew deeper as the king continued speaking.

As King Ivan went on and on about the impending war, Mathias's hope faded and his patience went dry. King Ivan wasn't going to help them, all he wanted to talk about was his nonsensical little war with Queen Yao. Every time Mathias tried to redirect King Ivan's rant back towards his curse, the king would feign deafness and continue.

"Yes, I understand, but…"

"King Ivan, please…"

"Your majes-"

Sighing, Berg leaned over to whisper in Mathias's ear. "You're not getting any help out of that loon," he said, "we should go home."

"I came all this way to see the king and we've been here for nearly three hours. We can't just leave!" Mathias hissed back.

"That's exactly it. We've been here for nearly three hours, and all he's done is talk about his silly little war with his silly little queen. You're better off with that damn sorcerer. Let's go."

"Oh," Mathias exclaimed, "I have to tell him about the dragon on top of the palace, at least!"

Berg growled in annoyance. "Fine, but be quick. I refuse to be kept waiting any longer."

Turning back to the rambling King Ivan, Mathias shouted, "Your majesty!" and this time, he succeeded in getting the king's attention. King Ivan fell silent, smiling pleasantly at Mathias and Berg.

"Ah yes, what was it you wanted of me?"

"There is a white dragon sittin' on top of your palace," said Mathias, "it's kind of just sleepin' there. I wasn't sure if this concerned you, but could you also heal my hands? I've been cursed." He held out his hands once more, imploring King Ivan to lift the curse.

Instead of performing any sort of healing magic, King Ivan bolted from the throne room, shouting commands to his officers and leaving Mathias and Berg in a stunned silence.

"What in blazes just happened?" snarled Mathias. He and Berg sprinted from the throne room along with every guard in the palace, only to find King Ivan standing on the stone steps outside amassing his forces.

"Find that dragon!"

"That was Queen Yao's dragon!"

"Queen Yao's been spying on us!"

Chaos raged around them as King Ivan ordered his soldiers to hunt for Mathias's dragon, and Mathias and Berg decided there was never a better time to leave. They rushed down the stairs, through the gates, and weaved through the crowd that had formed, only slowing down when the town stable came into view. Mathias paid the stablehand guarding their horses as Berg hitched them to their carriage, and they sped away from the insanity that Crownheim had become.

While Berg concentrated on goading the horses to speed up, Mathias stared sadly at his still-petrified hands. Night fell, bringing cool breezes that caused the men's skin to prickle with goosebumps. Mathias hunkered down under the wool blanket Berg had spread over him, chilled not by the weather but by the realization that he was still cursed.

A half day's ride to Crownheim, he thought as he stared at the rising moon, A half day's ride to Crownheim with what to show? A war? Our king is useless, and we've got another half day's ride back home!

Bitterness rose in Mathias. Overhead, the serpentine shape of a dragon streaked through the night sky.

It must have been near midnight when Berg spoke. "I'm sorry."

Mathias yawned. "No need to be. I'm sorry for dragging you all this way for nothing."

"Not nothing," snorted Berg, "you did single-handedly plunge the entire Kingdom of Acacia into war with the Kingdom of Oliennon. Good job."

"I don't need your back-talk," grumbled Mathias, turning away from Berg in his seat.

"Do not speak ill of the one who wipes your arse, Mathias," warned Berg. His tone grew gentle. "We'll find a way to break the curse. It'll take patience and persistence, but we'll do it." He cast a glance back at Mathias's huddled form. "Don't give up."

Mathias smiled. "Berg, old friend, I don't even know what those words mean."

* * *

**AN: THE RETURN OF BERG HUIZINGA AKA APH NETHERLANDS AKA MR. I STOLE MY DUTCH FRENCH TEACHER'S NAME FOR THIS CHARACTER **

**Also, NedDen BrOTP. **

**I'm really loving this story so far. I hope everyone else is enjoying it as well!**

**Don't worry. Sorcerer Norge will come back. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: A Sorcerer, His Apprentice, and A Spell Gone Wrong**

Before he had left for his own house, Berg told Mathias, "that damn sorcerer is obviously your last hope. Go see him again."

Which was why, once again, Mathias stood at the door of the Sorcerer Norge's shop. His visit to the royal palace had turned out to be a total flop, and according to his assistant, the Sorcerer Norge was the only magician in a twenty-mile radius who even had a chance of helping Mathias.

He knocked on the door. As expected, Emil answered it. His brows were knotted in frustration and he clutched at a kerchief that covered his entire head and part of his eyes. "Mr. Fisher," he said, "I heard you went to Crownheim yesterday to ask the king for help."

Mathias held out his hand sheepishly. "Yeah, well, it didn't really work. I came to ask the Sorcerer for help again."

"I really wish he would help you," sighed Emil, "he's just so damn stubborn sometimes, I wish my powers were fully developed so I could just knock some sense into him!"

"Is he around?" asked Mathias.

Emil shook his head. The kerchief rustled with the movement. "He went out again. He should be back later this afternoon. You're welcome to come back later." He was in the middle of closing the door when Mathias stopped it with his foot.

"Can I come in and wait for him? I don't have much to do anyway."

Emil scowled, clutching his kerchief even tighter around his head. "Absolutely not."

"But your shop's open," said Mathias, "Does it have anything to do with that kerchief you're wearing?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" shouted Emil, shoving the door shut, or rather, attempting to do so. Mathias's strength was far greater than the teenager's, and he wrestled his way into the shop. Emil turned on him, eyes blazing with pink fire, and was definitely about to yell at him when a strong wind blew through the shop. Bottles of unknown substances rattled in their places, scrolls unraveled, and sheets of parchment flew across the room. Emil lost his kerchief to the mysterious gale, yelping as it blew out of his reach. Mathias then learned why the boy had been so adamant about kicking him out of the shop.

Emil's hair, rather than it's usual silver, had taken on a bright pink hue. Mathias doubled over laughing.

"It's not funny!" Emil's protests could hardly be heard over the wind. "Have you ever had a spell go wrong on you? You should be worrying about why there's a strong wind in an enclosed building!"

While the thought had indeed crossed Mathias's mind, he was far more amused by Emil's magical mishap than anything else, which was why almost failed to notice the wind die down. He regained his composure to find, floating next to Emil, a disembodied head nearly half the size of the young man. He fell to the ground, startled.

"I found the source of the wind," Emil said crossly. "Norge is checking up on us."

The apparition looked nothing like the sorcerer. It was entirely green, with a large, protruding nose, a fanged underbite with a pipe tucked between its lips, and a long mane that floated around its face, waving slowly as if underwater.

Mathias raised his stone hands in defense. "Wh-what is that thing?" he sputtered.

"Norge's troll friend," said Emil.

"What the actual blazes."

The troll spoke up, in a voice like subdued thunder. "My name is Gudmund. The Sorcerer Norge sensed a disturbance at his shop, and sent me here to check up on it." He lay his glimmering, pupil-less eyes on Emil and his pink hair. "Seems to me there's been more than one disturbance here. What happened, son?"

"Yes, well," Emil huffed, "I wanted to look nice for when Leon comes to visit, and I sneezed while performing the spell." He glared at Mathias, expecting him to start laughing again, but Mathias simply grinned and shrugged.

"All laughed out, buddy. Sorry 'bout that."

A green hand materialized out of nowhere and snapped its fingers, returning Emil's hair to its normal shade. As Emil sighed and ran his fingers through his silver locks in relief, Gudmund turned to Mathias. "You have quite the curse on you," said the troll.

Mathias shook his head, lips pressed together tightly.

"And you can't even talk about it? That's quite unfortunate."

"Things happen if I do," Mathias said quietly. "I've been to every magician in a twenty-mile radius from here. I've even been to King Ivan himself. The only ones who even stand a chance of breaking my curse are the Sorcerer Norge and the little witch who put this curse on me in the first place!"

"Curses work in mysterious ways, and only a few people have any inkling as to how they function. I wouldn't expect the Sorcerer Norge to be able to break this easily."

Mathias looked down at his hands. "Sorcerer Norge's a jerk."

"Yes, well… He's never been a particularly wise or caring magician in the first place. If he were, he wouldn't have gotten himself cursed in the first place," said Gudmund. "Your curse is very similar to his, brought on by a hamartia, fatal flaw. Often we do not recognize our own flaws until it is too late." The troll removed the pipe from between his lips and blew out a ring of smoke. "Sometimes it takes the help of another to realize this. You are persistent, Mathias. I can see that, even without second sight. It's one of your better points," he chuckled.

"Can't you tell me more?" pleaded Mathias.

"I've said more than enough. Any more and I risk of getting cursed myself," Gudmund said grimly, "now, I'm off to tell the Sorcerer that everything is all right. Think of what I've said. Digest it and dissect it until you understand. Goodbye, Mathias. Goodbye."

With another gust of wind, Gudmund disappeared. Emil immediately set to tidying the mess that the troll's wind had created as Mathias looked on. A pang of helplessness struck at his chest; he couldn't even help Emil clean up.

"Don't worry about it," Emil said, as if reading Mathias's thoughts, "just sit down. Once I get this mess cleaned up, I'll make us some lunch."

Mathias smiled. "Gosh, Em. You're way nicer than that sorcerer o' yours. What gives?"

Emil winced slightly at the nickname, then decided it fit and let it be. "With all due respect, Mr. Fisher, you don't know the Sorcerer like I do. It took me six years to get to this point." He sighed knowingly as he used his magic to fish out an errant piece of parchment stuck behind a painting.

"Fair enough," replied Mathias, "I've been chasin' him around for the last week and I still don't even know his name."

"His name is Lukas Bondevik, for starters," Emil coughed as he righted the fallen dusty bottles. "I've been his apprentice for six years now, and he's been very good to me throughout, even though he is quite surly."

"He said he was cursed. Do ya know anythin' of that?"

"Only because I was there when it happened," Emil answered solemnly, "if I talk about it, then I hurt my master. That is the last thing I wish to do."

"Fair enough," Mathias said again, "why're ya tellin' me this, anyway?"

"I don't think I've told you anything of importance."

"Ya told me his name."

Emil lowered his hands and stared at the ceiling pensively. "You're right," he said after a moment, "well, I believe you might be the one to break his curse. All I wish to do is help Lukas, and if inviting you into the shop against his wishes is the way to do it, then I'll invite you in and serve you tea every time." His pensiveness hardened into a steely resolve, the fire in his eyes returning once more. "I just wish I could help you help him more."

"I'll help him," Mathias answered, almost as firmly as Emil. "If he's breakin' my curse, I might as well break his while we're at it. Think of it as payment."

"You'll talk to him once he comes back, right?" Emil's voice took on a pleading tone, "Gudmund says you're persistent, so you'll get him to agree, right?"

Mathias grinned. "I'll do my best!"

**XxX**

The Sorcerer Norge, or rather, Lukas Bondevik, returned home that evening expecting to have himself a hot bath, a meal, and a peaceful evening studying his newly-acquired spellbooks with Emil. What he did not expect was Mathias at his table, being fed Emil's special fish fillet by the boy himself as if they were close friends. He slammed the door shut, alerting them to his presence.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?" he raged. Mathias and Emil jumped in their seats and Lukas pointed an accusatory finger at the stony-handed man. "YOU LET HIM IN!?"

Emil nodded. "Welcome home, Lukas," he said, ignoring his master's temper, "I made salmon fillet for dinner."

Just the mention of salmon fillet seemed to calm Lukas down a little bit. He plunked himself in the seat across from Mathias, the glare refusing to disappear from his face, as Emil slid a plate of salmon in front of him.

Mathias hooked one of his stone fingers under his shirt collar and tugged. "I'm here to break your curse, mister sorcerer," he said nervously. He could feel himself begin to falter under Lukas's frigid glare. So much for persistence.

"Do you really think you can?" Lukas sneered, stabbing his fork into his salmon with a loud _thunk_ that made Mathias flinch. "You, a lazy fisherman with no powers of his own, breaking my curse? Don't make me laugh, you fool!"

"Lukas, stop that," interjected Emil, holding up his hands, "that's the ice speaking. Don't listen to it."

Mathias stood up, sending his chair flying back with a loud screech. "I can, and I'll show ya," he stated, staring Lukas down with eyes of blue fire. "I'll break that stupid curse of yours, and then you'll have to break mine because that's how things work here."

"I don't want you anywhere near me," spat Lukas.

Mathias shivered. It was the middle of spring, there shouldn't be frost forming on the windowpanes of Norge's shop, nor should his breath come out in puffs of white.

The sudden change in weather didn't seem to deter the Sorcerer. He returned Mathias's glare, almost challenging him wordlessly, _I dare you to try._ Mathias shook off the cold air and continued.

"Please, Sorcerer. Lukas," Mathias pleaded, "this ain't even about my curse anymore."

"Why do you even care?" snapped Lukas.

"'Cause look at this!" Mathias gestured towards the icicles on the mantle, the frost-covered bottles, everything. "You're cold, Sorcerer. You don't have to be cold anymore."

Lukas's gaze grew fearful as he followed Mathias's gestures. His eyes landed on Emil, shivering over plates of frozen salmon, and he doubled over, clutching at his chest. Mathias reached out.

"Lukas…?"

As if it had never been there, the frost disappeared, the air grew warm again. Mathias's stone hand landed on Lukas's shoulder and Lukas looked up only to lock eyes with Mathias.

"I will help you," Mathias said solemnly, "this I swear. Please, Lukas... I need you to trust me."

The color returned to Lukas's cheeks, and he gripped Mathias's stone hands with his own icy ones so desperately that frost formed on the fisherman's fingertips.

"Then make a contract with me."

* * *

**AN: Before anyone asks, I haven't watched Madoka.  
Beware the dialogue chapter. So easy, yet so complicated... I kinda wish everything could be dialogue. :p  
I'm really enjoying this AU, I hammered out a little SuFin thing for it as well. I'll post it after I've got it polished up, and after I've figured out whether it's a multichapter or not.  
Definitely putting some more SuFin in here, though. But they're on their honeymoon right now, so things have to wait. ;)**

**See you next time! XOXO**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: A Troll, A Contract, and Blue Blood**

"We'll have to make a couple preparations in order for this to work," Lukas said, retrieving a packet of powder from the inside of a book. Mathias sat patiently at the dining table, Emil's special salmon fillet long since finished, dishes piled up in the sink. He watched as Lukas scurried around, gathering mysterious powders from the strangest places; he even pulled a packet from behind Emil's ear.

"It's a convenient place to store things," he answered upon hearing Emil's incredulous sputtering.

Finally, Lukas selected a fine, green powder and sprinkled it at his feet, mumbling incantations as he did so. Mathias watched with a mixture of fear and amazement, but mostly he was just happy that he got Lukas to cooperate with him. He had seen a terrifying, vulnerable side of Lukas just now, and it only made him want to help the magician more.

Mathias smiled as he watched Lukas work. His eyes, a deep indigo, were focused on the powder gathering beneath him, and his lips trembled as he murmured. _I wonder how old he is, anyway,_ Mathias thought, _he can't be any older than I am… He definitely doesn't look so._

A puff of green smoke snapped him out of his musings. Mathias blinked, and there floated Gudmund, bowing before Lukas.

"Sorcerer," the troll greeted, "it's very unlike you to call upon me so soon."

"It's a bit of an emergency," replied Lukas, "Mister Fisher and I are to make a contract."

Gudmund glanced mischieviously at Mathias, who beamed in response. "So it is. Well, have you gathered the necessary spells?"

Lukas gestured to his pile of powders. "I have."

"Do you have a pocketknife?"

Lukas reached over and pulled a small folding knife out of Emil's left nostril. "Not funny!" the boy shrieked, clutching at his nose, "what else have you been hiding on my person without me knowing, huh?"

Lukas simply smirked as he handed the knife to Gudmund, who produced a large roll of empty parchment from thin air. "I understand that, in exchange for having his curse broken, Mathias Fisher has agreed to break the curse placed on Lukas Thomassen, alias the Sorcerer Norge?" asked Gudmund.

"Sounds right," said Mathias. His eyes widened as he saw the roll of parchment unroll by itself, writing appearing on its blank surface.

"Then, Lukas, will you draw the circle?"

Lukas nodded, gathering his powders. He painstakingly sprinkled them in symbols around himself, Mathias, and Gudmund. A white circle, red and blue stars, green runes, black stripes, with Gudmund's contract at the very center of it all. When he was done, he tossed the empty powder packets outside the circle and asked Gudmund to continue.

"Mathias, please stand here," Gudmund motioned towards the red star, "and Lukas, you stand in the blue one. Now, I need you to say your vows."

"I, Lukas Thomassen, solemnly swear to break the curse put on Mathias Fisher, and will uphold my vows until I die or complete the task at hand." A pen floated into Lukas's hand and he signed the contract with a flourishing signature.

The pen floated towards Mathias and he hurriedly repeated Lukas's actions. "I, Mathias Fisher, solemnly swear to break the curse put on the Sor-er-Lukas Thomassen, and will uphold my vows 'til I die or complete the task at hand…" he awkwardly took the pen between both his petrified hands and scrawled his initials next to Lukas's name on the contract. "It's the best I can do, I hope it works."

"It's fine," answered Gudmund. Taking Lukas's hand gently in his, the troll pricked the magician's index finger to draw blood. Mathias noted with surprise that his blood was a deep blue, rather than a normal red. Lukas smeared his finger on the contract, covering his signature with an ultramarine smudge.

Must be part of his curse, realized Mathias, unless he's not human in the first place…

His thoughts were cut short when Gudmund faced him, penknife in hand. Mathias held out his arm, allowing Gudmund to slit it in the proper place. He watched his blood, a healthy crimson, drip onto the parchment over his initials, and suddenly he felt heavy.

"You have signed the blood contract," Gudmund announced solemnly. "You must uphold your vows, or risk death. Good luck, and may you both learn something from this." He called upon his winds, and a chill ran through Mathias's bones for the second time that day. The powder scattered, its job done, and Gudmund disappeared.

Once the shop had settled down, Mathias said, "well, I guess if I'm gonna be breakin' your curse, I should get to know ya better."

"It's quite late, and I've had a very long day," answered Lukas, "I think I'm going to go to sleep."

"Or that," shrugged Mathias. "Good night, I guess."

Lukas gave a small smile, one that sent Mathias's head spinning. "You're welcome to come by tomorrow, though. We open at nine AM, sharp."

Mathias's excited whoop could be heard all throughout Little Whirling.

**XxX**

When Mathias told Berg that he would only require his help in mornings and evenings from then on, Berg was relieved yet slightly skeptical. "You're staying with the Sorcerer, now?" he'd asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yep! He's breakin' my curse, but only if I break his. To do that, I gotta hang around him and figure out what's up." Mathias replied excitedly. "He's a frigid li'l bastard, but he really ain't that bad after all."

"Well, I'm happy for you," said Berg, "I hope things go well with him."

"We'll be best buds before ya know it," Mathias winked, "so if ya wanna find me anytime else, I'll be at his place."

"Duly noted," Berg answered with a small smile.

**XxX**

Irale, the crown city of the Kingdom of Oliennon, was at rest beneath the blanket of a warm night. Silver-trimmed buildings cast shadows in the empty streets, lined with brick worn to smoothness by the endless tread of feet. The moon hung large and heavy in the sky, a ripe golden melon ready for harvest. Its light was briefly cut off by the shape of a long dragon, winding its way across the night.

The dragon landed soundlessly on one of the silver-shingled pagoda roofs of the Oliennon Grand Palace. Moonlight bounced off its white scales and it growled, slightly irritated by something only dragons could fathom. It stretched and slithered down, beneath the pagoda roofs and into the palace itself.

It entered a chamber decorated in silks and more silver, all glimmering in the moonlight streaming through the open windows. A bed, lavishly carved, sat in the center of the room, and on its satiny covers, dressed in robes of silk to match the chamber, sat a slender man of ebony hair and moon-pale skin. Sensing the intruder, the man spoke.

"Welcome back, dragon."

With a puff of shimmery smoke, the dragon was gone, and in its place stood a man in white robes. He ran a hand through choppy chestnut hair before bowing deeply. "Your majesty, Queen Yao," he greeted.

"Yong Soo," Queen Yao returned, "I trust everything has gone well?"

A look of annoyance crossed Yong Soo's face and he narrowed his eyes. "I was spotted, your majesty. King Ivan's forces drove me out."

Queen Yao tapped his finger on his throne impatiently. "Of course. Dragons aren't very common in my husband's kingdom. You would have done better to retain your human form." He sighed, gathering his robes and sliding off the bed. "Have you completed your mission, at least?"

"I have, sir," answered Yong Soo.

"Then show me what information you have gathered."

Yong Soo stood, arms stiff at his sides, eyes narrowed at the Queen. "King Ivan's forces are numerous," he said, "they outnumber us two to one. However, they rely on traditional fighting methods and artillery rather than magic."

Queen Yao let out a short burst of laughter. "Of course. The Great and Powerful Wizard King is indeed Great and Powerful... If he is the only Wizard in the kingdom."

Yong Soo smiled at this. "My Queen. You and your soldiers are superior in magic, and I advise that we take advantage of that. However, I also advise that you gather an army of Oliennon's most powerful magicians as well, just in case."

"You speak wisely, my dragon," Queen Yao looked satisfied. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually," replied the dragon, "They plan to drop bombs on our city of Pon within a week's time."

"We can't have that, can we?" grumbled the Queen. "Wake the Head General. At sunrise, Ivan's little outskirt town of Barell will rise in flames. Just a warning."

Yong Soo grinned devilishly, revealing row upon row of sharp, serrated teeth. "Consider it done, my Queen."

When Queen Yao grinned back, his was more ferocious than any dragon's could have been. "Your mission is completed, for now. Go rest. We will reconvene in the morning."

Yong Soo bowed once more. "As you wish, my Queen."

**XxX**

Mathias awoke that morning to the sounds of bombs falling far away. He blinked sleepily as a feeling of guilt threatened to form in the pit of his stomach. The sun's rays weakly crept through his window, illuminating his bedroom in the reds of blood and fire… The fire falling from the sky and the blood spilling from the people of the unfortunate city far from Little-Whirling-By-The-Sea, yet nowhere near far enough.

This is war, he realized, this is real!

Berg arrived barely half an hour later, his eyes dark and rimmed with the redness of sleep. On his arm was his sister Belle, who shared all of his good looks and none of his sour charm.

"Queen Yao has bombed Barell," he said grimly. He lit his pipe and took a long draw from it before exhaling smoke all over Mathias's kitchen.

Belle coughed as she fed Mathias his breakfast. "Acacia and Oliennon are officially at war," she said, "Us, the townspeople… We don't stand a chance!"

"We're thinking of leaving for the Republic of Efizel in the south," added Berg, "Nothing certain yet, as Queen Yao has only encroached on the outskirts of King Ivan's expansive lands, but until this idiotic war is over, we are not safe."

Mathias didn't reply; instead, he pushed his stone fingers through his wild, blond hair, a habit he'd retained from the days he had useable hands.

"You've hardly said a word all morning, Mathias," Berg said, taking another drag from his pipe, "normally I can't get you to shut up. Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Mathias answered in a watery voice, "it's just… I was the one who started this, y'know? All by pointin' out some silly li'l dragon on top of King Ivan's castle."

Berg shook his head. "No. Queen Yao and King Ivan started this war. That dragon was one of Yao's henchmen. The war was already on when we visited Crownheim that day."

Mathias remained silent. The only sounds he made came from his chewing as Belle fed him.

It was Berg who broke the uncomfortable quietude. "Come. Let's see if your favorite sorcerer can cheer you up."

**XxX**

Unfortunately, Mathias's so-called favorite sorcerer had curled into a ball on his couch and refused to move. Instead, it was Emil who greeted them, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"We heard the bombs this morning as well," he said, "it's made the Sorcerer so nervous," he leaned in close and added in a whisper, "Barell is where his old mentor lives."

Lukas sobbed. Wrapped up in his blue bathrobe and folded in upon himself, he resembled just another pillow on the couch. Mathias swore for a moment that the sorcerer had sprouted tassels.

Closing the door behind Mathias, Berg, and Belle, Emil sighed. "Oh dear... he's turning into a pillow again." He pulled out his wand and prodded Lukas gently with it, murmuring a spell in a soothing voice. The transformation reversed itself, leaving Lukas as he was, in his human form. Emil turned back to the group. "We need to leave him to grieve. He cared about poor old Mrs. Willowby dearly."

At the mention of Mrs. Willowby, Lukas let out a painful howl. Realizing he'd said something wrong, Emil clapped his hands over his mouth and excused himself into the other room. He came back with a wool blanket draped over his shoulders, and Mathias realized that it had just gone from pleasantly warm to deathly cold in the Sorcerer's shop in a matter of moments. No doubt Lukas was the cause of the sudden drop in temperature.

Berg and Belle stood shivering, wondering aloud why it had gotten so damn cold. Mathias gestured towards Lukas before approaching the huddled lump on the couch and laying a stone hand over what he assumed was Lukas's back.

"Hey, Lukas…" he started softly.

Lukas shivered. "Get your hands off of me," he moaned.

"Right." Mathias withdrew his hand, slightly hurt. He pushed aside those feelings before looking at the magician again. "It was terrible, what Oliennon did. I'm sorry it happened."

"She's dead, I know it…"

"You'll always have her with ya," Mathias tried.

This time, he received a one-eyed glare in response. "That's stupid and clichéd."

"It's true, though. Ya learned your magic from her, so it makes her a part of ya." Mathias sighed. "This war's been goin' on for only a few days and it's already ruined a bunch of lives. You're right, it's horrible. It's gotta be stopped somehow."

Lukas uncurled himself and met Mathias's gaze with the eyes of a man in mourning. His golden hair was unkempt and his dullened eyes were ringed by dark circles. "You're saying hopeless things," he snapped, "we are but nothing to the kings and queens of our lands."

This time, Mathias had no response, clichéd or otherwise. He stared guiltily at his own feet before Lukas crawled over and nestled himself in the space between Mathias's arm and body. His breath came out in shaky puffs of fog that smelled of last night's fish, but Mathias settled his arms around the magician anyway and absorbed the sound of his pitiful sobs.

They stayed like that, unquestioning, as Emil made hot chocolate for everyone and lit the fireplace. Gradually, Mathias noticed, the frost on the windowpanes turned to rivulets of water and Emil had shed his wool blanket. Lukas's sobs had been reduced to sniffles with the occasional hiccup, yet the sadness in his eyes lingered.

"Are ya all right?" Mathias asked.

Lukas rose from his seat and retreated to his room without another word.

The silence hung heavy in the air, broken by the quiet scrape of the chair Berg had been sitting in. "I believe it is time for my sister and I to go," he said, extending his elbow. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Steilsson. Please take care of Mathias."

"Do come by again," replied Emil, "perhaps when the circumstances are not so grim."

"We look forward to it. See you, Mathias." And with a wave, Berg and Belle glided out of the shop, leaving Emil and Mathias alone.

"I've never met Mrs. Willowby myself," Emil said as he set to washing the dishes, "but I know she means a lot to my master. They wrote each other quite often."

"I'm sure she wouldn't want to see him so sad," Mathias answered grimly. "I sure don't."

Emil smiled. "Lukas has seen a lot in his life. He'll grieve for a bit, then recover." His eyes glazed over, as if lost in thought. "It's how he's survived," he added quietly, "I'm just surprised that he latched onto you."

"I was a little surprised myself," admitted Mathias, "but I couldn't just turn him away like that. Does he do that often?"

"Never. Normally, he barricades himself in his room to think about things, or he'll turn himself into an inanimate object to avoid thinking about things. Once, after being dumped by a girl, he turned himself into a phonogram that played only sad music. Though, this is much more serious."

As amusing as the image of Lukas as a phonograph seemed, Mathias couldn't laugh. "My heart hurts for him," he said, "is this part of the contract or somethin'?"

Emil finished putting the last of the used mugs away and shrugged, drying his hands on his trousers. "I'm not sure, myself," he answered, "seems you two have a bond, though, be it from the contract or otherwise." He allowed himself a smile. "I'm glad you came around, Mathias Fisher. You might be closer to breaking his curse than you think."

Mathias snorted, a laugh. "Pretty good for not knowing anything," he said.

Emil returned Mathias's laugh. "You'll get there. I'll be cheering for you."

"Thanks, kiddo."

Emil scowled. "Don't you dare call me that," he reprimanded.

**XxX**

For the rest of the day, Emil showed Mathias around the shop, under the pretext of, "if you're going to be here, then you might as well help out." Mathias, whose only experience with magic had been getting cursed, was delighted to learn that magic had beneficial uses as well. He let Mathias hand spells to customers who had ordered them, and taught him how to clear the dust from a surface with a simple wave of his hand. Granted, it took a couple of tries for the dusty shelf Mathias had been practicing on to clean itself and not sprout thick black hair on its surface, but by the end of the day, he was giddy with excitement. Magic, which had always been a foreign concept to him, was finally at his fingertips! He could clean all the dusty surfaces he wanted with his new power. He felt, in short, awesome.

Lukas appeared in the kitchen around dinnertime, wrapped up in his duvet. By then, Emil (with Mathias's help) had already prepared a delicious-smelling pasta. He planted himself at the table, staring blankly at its now-clean surface with red-rimmed eyes.

"Mathias," he said finally.

Mathias rushed over to kneel by Lukas's side. "What's wrong?"

Rather than reply, Lukas dropped his head to rest against Mathias's shoulder. Mathias felt a jolt of pain shoot into his heart, taking hold of its core with a dull ache that saddened him. He tilted his head to rest against Lukas's. "Still not feelin' good, huh?"

"No."

"It's a stupid war done by stupid people. They're ruinin' lives." Mathias said firmly.

Lukas was small and cold against him, exhaling breaths in puffs of steam that could be seen. He shivered and pressed closer to Mathias, a beacon of warmth and light that pierced through the cold darkness surrounding him. He closed his eyes. Since the beginning of his curse, never had he felt so secure. He felt Mathias's arm wind its way around his shoulder, the rough granite of his petrified hand brushing against his cheek.

A small part of his consciousness told him it was wrong, it was impolite to rub up against this almost-stranger like a domesticated cat. He pushed those thoughts away. How could it be wrong when Mathias felt like home?

Next to him, Mathias began to tremble.

"Um, Norge," he began, "my legs are crampin'. I gotta get up."

Eyelashes fluttering open, Lukas sat up. He felt the warmth seep away as Mathias stood and rubbed his aching legs. At the same time, that small part of his consciousness grew larger, and embarrassment took hold of him. He turned away from Mathias only to see Emil standing before him, a plate in his hand and a smirk on his lips.

"You've gotten quite close in such a short time," he teased, setting Lukas's dinner on the table.

Lukas cocked his head, eyebrow raised, and set to eating his dinner, choosing to ignore the truth of his apprentice's words.

* * *

**AN: Guess who's in college now beyotchesssss**

**I really love this AU and this story so if you could leave a li'l something in the review box, I'll love you too~~**

**I heard about the politician Lukas Bondevik, which makes me a little uneasy. So I'm working on changing all instances of Lukas's last name to Thomassen. Lukas Thomassen, the Sorcerer Norge, the best in all the land. **

**But yeah, classes start tomorrow so I'm not exactly sure how much time I'll have for writing now! Makes me sad :( but there are a lot of clubs I'm planning on joining, including writing and art clubs, so I'll get to exercise my creative muscles at least! **

**Ta-ta for now!**


End file.
